Archive | October, 2012

Nona the One-Eyed Wonder Cat

23 Oct

Nona’s good side

When I first married my husband, we inherited his mother’s three cats.  Bandita was the big, fluffy mama cat and her two daughters – Nona and Culichi.  Nona was named such because she was gray and Culichi had no tail, having lost it in a fight with a Rottweiler.  Nona this point only had one eye because the other had been damaged and resulted in a cataract.

Culichi and Bandita treated me with cautious disregard.  Culichi even peed in my new Coach bag, and Bandita liked to take swipes at me when I would go in my closet.  I strongly suspect they were angry with me for 1) getting rid of their mother (hubby’s mom used to live with us) and 2) bringing a dog into the house (the very hyper Doberman never understood why the old ladies did not want to play).

I gave up trying to get any attention from those two cats, but Nona was a different story.  I couldn’t sit down without a full on cuddle attack from that girl.  And she was ALWAYS purring.  You could hear her purring from the other room, wondering if someone had left a fan on or something.   It was amazing how she’d rev up immediately upon seeing you.  A low slow purr would develop into full throttled throat rumble with just a scratch behind the ear.

When I had my numerous eye surgeries, Nona became my sympathizer.  It was she and I against the world.  No one else understood my disability, but I am pretty sure Nona did.  When I was facedown for a week while my retina tried to reattach itself, she’d purr and rub her face against mine as I sobbed into the pillow begging for relief.   We were simpatico. 

I even made up a little song for her that I would sing every night when she’d climb up on my chest in bed for a good ear scratch.  “I only got one eye, but I love you with of my heart.” 

She was fifteen though, and she’d been looking worse for the wear for the past year or so.  I stopped letting her outside as much and kept her indoors as much as possible.   She had some dental issues, so I only gave her wet food and would crush up the dry food into a fine powder for her to eat.  I knew it was getting bad when she stopped jumping up on the bed for an ear scratch.  She still purred, but I had to kneel down at her new spot in order to give her an ear scratch.

She started dropping weight rapidly and for the past month she got very thin.  I hadn’t realized how bad it was really until about a week ago.  My husband and his mother said she needed to be put down, but I didn’t want to hear it.  I thought she had some time left, but I ended up being wrong.

On Friday, I made the veterinary appointment for Saturday morning.  That night I opened up a can of tuna and set it out for her to eat.  She could barely get through it.  She ate small pieces, looked at me, sighed then went to her spot in the doorway.

The next day I took her to the veterinarian.  On the way there, I held her on my lap so she could look out the window and watch all the cars pass.  She loved it.  She was so happy and purred the whole way, the rhythm of her purr matching the hum of the engine. 
We have the best veterinarian in the business.  We’ve been taking our animals to him for over thirty years.  He gently gave me the bad news and told me that she had kidney failure and gave me a few options, but the end result was the same:  she wasn’t going to make it and was most likely suffering.    He asked me if I wanted to be with her when we put her down, and I said of course.  I figured if she comforted me in my times of suffering, I’d see her off in hers.

I held Nona as she purred her soft, comforting purr until the medicine hit her veins and she closed her in eyes in peaceful slumber. 

I miss Nona.  I miss her bedtime visits and our nighttime lullaby.  I even miss tripping over her in the middle of the night.  She is a big reason that I love cats.  I had been a very strict dog person for the majority of my life, and I am grateful to Nona for teaching me otherwise:  that cats are pretty awesome.  So thanks Nona, my simpatico kitty cat. 

Zombie Shuffle

12 Oct

For the past few years, I’ve attempted to get into “running” as exercise.  I’ve run in several 5K’s, but several health problems (numerous eye surgeries) have impeded my progress.

Not to mention my MONUMENTALLY fat ass.

Seriously, it’s hard to get any speed to move this monolith.  And once I get into the groove of things, I like it.  I really do.  It’s the snail’s pace of progress, along with my own snail’s pace that is really frustrating.

At this rate, I can run for 30 minutes straight (outside on the road) with maybe two short walks (two minutes piece?).  The thing is, my overall rate of pace is 14 minute mile.

My mother-in-law who is seventy can speedwalk past me at that speed.  Honestly, the dog is just patronizing me on these “runs.”  She constantly looks at me like, “Seriously Mom?  You call this running? I  am sooooo BORED right now!”

I’ve had wonderful tips of encouragement and am constantly told to just “keep with it!  Most people can’t even walk a mile!”  Which I think is bullshit.

Also bullshit?  Advice to work on my “form.”

Please.  By the end of one of my runs, I’m barely upright.  I’m covered in sweat, soaked through with the hudmity and heat, and just staggering toward to the end of my route.  Honestly, I liken my form to that of a Zombie, just slowly shuffling towards BRAAAAAINS!  MORE BRAAAAAINS!  AAARRRRRGH!

I shouldnt be so hard on myself.  I am sure some people don’t exercise at all and at least at this point I am three weeks into this habit, having had to stop running in August due to another eye surgery.    But I would like to see some damn improvement already. 

At least I wouldnt be scaring all the kids who are innocently playing ball int eh front yard and are suddenly faced with the Zombie Apocolypse as I gasp and limp my towards them.

Recently Mindy Kaling said she was a “slow runner” and that she runs an 11 minute mile, to which I say GOOD FOR YOU!  And darnit, she’s fast! 

Seriously, if she ran past me, I’d barely see her  – she’d be a blur. 

So don’t be so hard on yourself girlfriend.  You’re at least WAAAAAY faster than me.  Which isn’t saying MUCH, but it’s something. 

 

Dreamweaver

2 Oct

I have a recurring dream. It happens occasionally, and not always EXACTLY the same way, but the context is the same.

I dream frequently that I am enrolled in college, I’ve been skipping a particular class, and I have to make it to that class or I won’t graduate on time. So, I can’t remember where the class is, of course, and there may or may not be an exam.

AND I’m always ALWAYS late. Pants are optional.

It’s a horrifying dream and I think it links to my insecurities. Intellectual insecurities. I am a huge fan of NOT wearing pants, though. So my physical insecurities are minor. It’s all of YOU who have an issue with me going pantsless – not I. I am seriously hard-core in the NO PANTS EVER department. I eschew wearing pants as often as I can.

Anyway, moving on. Isn’t this weird? Years after I’ve graduated, I am still feeling inadequate and like I am just barely making it though life and it manifests itself in my psyche in school.

And the subject is always science. I would think it would be math, because I seriously HATED math classes, but no – science. But probably because you cannot BS your way in science class. You have to memorize shit, and yeah well, I would fail. As a matter of fact, I think I DID fail a basic Biology class in my first two years of college – because I was at McDonald’s instead of class.

Oh well. I wish I’d have more dreams of me winning American Idol, those are great dreams. And strangely in all those dreams I am wearing pants. YOu would think I’d eschew pants to skew the votes in my favor but no – I always win in those dreams due to my spectacular rendition of Heart’s Barracuda. With pants on.